Therapy
by DefyingPopular
Summary: Pop gets sick of Meat's dancing, Galileo's singing and Scaramouche's arguing... so he decides to do something about it. Gaz/Scara. Oneshot. Rated for naughty words and references to what the naughty words mean.


**I was in an English exam when this came to me. Yeah, I know right? Random. Could be set pretty much anytime after the end of WWRY. Just some random humour (at least I hope its funny).**

**Rated for, erm, sexual references and naughty words ;)**

**Disclaimer: Hello, my name is Brian May and I own all of this. I am also lying.**

Turned out that Pop wasn't very mellow unless he got a decent amount of sleep every night. Unfortunately for him, getting _any _sleep _most _nights was next to impossible when you lived in the Heartbreak Hotel.

As soon as darkness had fallen and Pop had curled up on his mattress, surrounded by lavender scented to candles with his favourite stuffed animal bunny (named Shagileo) sat on the pillow beside him, _it _began.

Whoever said Meat couldn't handle her alcohol was wrong; she could handle it very well, thank you very much. She just chose not to.

With an ear-splitting yell that sounded like a cross between a Tarzan yelp and a dog whistle she bounced around the bar area, beer in one hand and microphone in the other, singing whatever absurd song Galileo had spouted out earlier in the day out of tune and at the top of her lungs. Twirling through the crowd of slightly pissed Bohemians she screeched happily, enjoying herself and the amount of noise she made.

As soon as the rest of the Bohemians had gone to bed (either because they were tired or Meat had passed out and was no longer providing them with entertainment), Pop would sigh blissfully, giving Shagileo a cuddle before settling down to sleep. Until The Dreamer started, well, _dreaming._

What started off as low mutters grew into loud shouts that echoed through the entire Heartbreak, random bursts of lyrics that didn't seem to bother anyone but Pop.

"_If you like it then you should've put a ring on it!"_

"_21 guns! Throw up your arms, into the sky!"_

"_Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone!"_

"_I'm a Barbie girl! In a Barbie world!"_

But the worst would be both Scaramouche and Galileo – their room was directly above his and every night they seemed to argue. Well, Scaramouche seemed to argue, and it had to directed at Gaz. The amount of times "Gazza, you bastard!" or variations had been shouted was unbelievable; Pop had lost count at 52.

He'd also come to notice that Scaramouche enjoyed throwing things at her boyfriend – several loud bangs would always vibrate around his room, with screams from both the Dreamer and his Bad Arsed Babe.

After an hour or so this would stop. And then start again.

So after about a month of next-to-no sleep, he snapped.

"It was brilliant! Completely hysteri- _Can you hear the sound of hysteria? The subliminal mind – fuck America!"_

"No, Shagileo Gigalo, fuck _you!"_ Pop growled from behind the bar as The Dreamer spouted out random words. Everyone turned and stared at the hippie in shock; they all knew he doted on Galileo.

"Pop… 'ave you been drinking?" Scaramouche asked from her perch on her boyfriend's lap – she had almost fallen off in shock at the bartender's outburst.

"No! Well… yes, but no more than usual…" Pop trailed off. "I don't think so anyway… I lost count after – hang on!"

"I think you've had a bit much, hen," Meat added cautiously, approaching the bar slowly.

"Yes!" Pop yelled. "Yes I have!"

"Well, I'm just gonna-"

"I've had enough of you guys!"

"…What!" The three Bohemians stared at him.

"You keep me up every night with your singing, and dancing, and arguing!" Pop complained.

Meat and Gaz looked down shamefully, but Scaramouche frowned. "Arguing? Gazza and I haven't argued in ages…"

"I don't want to hear it! We are all going to sit down and talk about your problems be cause you obviously have some," Pop walked around from behind the bar, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "We are going to have _therapy!"_

"…therapy?" Galileo repeated warily.

xxxx

"Now, we're going to go around the circle, say our name and what our problem is," Pop addressed the sulky ring of Bohemians, all slouched in booths and chairs across the room, either hung-over or alcohol deprived. "This will be a good start to work out the root of our differences!"

Scaramouche scowled, sinking further down into her chair next to Gaz. As much as she loved Pop – and really, she did love the crazy hippie, even if he irritated her at times – she hated his stupid ideas. This one was probably the second worst; the worst being when he suggested that the Bohemians open a circus (Charlotte had a bit of trouble balancing on the tightrope when she was pissed out of her head and Cliff refused to wear the clown outfit – he said it hid his figure).

Since he used to be a librarian, he knew about all the old traditions set before GlobalSoft abolished them; and this apparently was one of them.

"My name is Meat," Meat smirked. "And I like… _alcohol!" _She shouted the last word and the Bohemians cheered, jumping out of their seats. Pop glared.

"No, you're supposed to say 'Hello Meat'" he told them.

"But we already know her!" Madonna hiccupped.

"It's just what they do, okay?" Pop shouted, and everyone slowly sat down, slightly scared of angry Pop. He took a deep breath and smiled. "Now, Gaz… your turn."

"You just said my name, do I still have to…erm, I mean: my name is Galileo Figaro," he hastily corrected after a glare from the hippie.

"Shagileo Gigalo…" Scaramouche muttered, smirking slightly. Galileo flushed (bless 'im, she thought), but Pop furrowed his brow at her. She rolled her eyes.

"…and I have dreams… and stuff…" Gaz finished.

"Hello Galileo," the Bohemians chorused.

"Well, hello there, Shagileo Gigalo," Scaramouche wiggled her eyebrows suggestively when all had gone quiet. The Bohemians tittered nervously.

"Scaramouche, it's your turn," Pop sighed.

"Hey, everyone, my name is Scaramouche, yes its crappy but you can blame Gazza here for that and I don't have any problems, woohoo, can I go?" she said in one short breath.

"No!" Pop frowned. "You _do _have problems! I hear you every night!"

"What are you talking about, Pop?" Scaramouche sighed.

"The shouting! The screaming! The banging!" Pop burst out. "Every night, over and over and over – you never stop fighting with The Dreamer! It drives me up the wall!"

"…shouting?" Scaramouche repeated.

"…screaming?" Galileo questioned.

"…banging…" they both realised at the same time. Everyone else looked on in confusion.

"Of course Pop," Scaramouche smiled in a disconcerting way. She took a deep breath, stood up and smoothed down her skirt.

"My name is Scaramouche and I like to _do the fandango_."

**Well there you have it :)**

**Review? Pretty please? :D**


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